


A Curious Case of Desire

by Meli Landry (ChachiBobinks)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Desire, F/M, Fade Hand Bitch-Slap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChachiBobinks/pseuds/Meli%20Landry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Templar Cullen ever wanted was a cozy home, a beautiful wife, and a family that he could call his own. A normal life, he'd say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Curious Case of Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Cullenites of BSN](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Cullenites+of+BSN).



> a/n: All props to BioWare for the delightful characters. Thanks to my lovely beta, Raelynn!

  The story of his life was etched in the stone foundation of his little house outside of Denerim. All he had ever cherished called that thatched roof cottage a home. Time spent away from home tortured him so, though the time flew by so fast that at the end of his shift, he felt as if he hadn't been gone long, if at all. But he missed her regardless, his beloved. The most lovely woman in all of Fereldan, the one who thrilled him with her laugh and vexed him with the way she hogged all the bed sheets, was tucked away in their bed when he slipped through the door. 

  He quietly discarded his armor by the table when he arrived home and tended to all possible tasks and chores before he even thought to disturb her. She'd wake up with not a thing to bother herself with except, perhaps, him.

  With great ease, he settled on the edge of their bed. A cautious touch brushed curls from her cheek. He'd work a million years without rest if it meant she'd be taken care of, a feeling that just grew and grew each time he laid eyes on her beautiful face. She was his beginning and his end, the light in each window, and the reason he lived and breathed. He'd do anything for her and that feeling intensified with each passing minute.

  He desired the next ones to be spent awake and, preferably, wrapped up in her arms.  _"Oh, if I had money enough to spend and leisure time to sit awhile."_ He softly sang in his attempt to wake her.  _"There is a fair maid in this town that sorely has my heart beguiled."_

  She stirred and stretched but did not awaken. Pausing, he pressed a kiss against her forehead. Even in her slumber she was the most glorious creature he had ever laid eyes on.  _"Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips, she alone has my heart in thrall."_

  There were times when he was blown away by how lucky he had become. 

  "Cullen, you cad," Solona murmured, nose wrinkled and eyes squinted shut to avoid the blindness that would be caused by the curtain he had drawn back. "It's...I dunno what time it is, but I'm sure it's deplorable to wake me now."

  His face cracked with a smile and hand cradled her cheek. "It's past noon," he replied quietly. Their bed was warm, and he liked to think it was much more so with him settling in at her side. He pressed his lips just below her ear. "Have you been sleeping all day, Love?"

  "Well, I was up all night," she replied, pausing only to yawn, "while you slept as if you had no other priorities." Her tone was enough to let him know that he was stepping upon that fine line, and enough to advise him that his best response would come in the form of a grimace and sweet apology. Before he could, though, she pulled herself from his arms and sat straight up in bed. "Maker, speaking of, where's Alistair?"

  "Just ate," he replied, gaze wandering over the slope of her shoulders down to the small of her back. He laid back on the bed, propping his head up with an arm hooked behind it. "Gorged himself on porridge. And much like his namesake,  _Andraste guide his soul_ , he had his fill and passed out immediately after. I put him in his crib so he wouldn't rouse you."

  Her mouth opened, then closed with a pout. "How long have you been home?"

  "Maybe an hour," he replied.

  "The day is half wasted and all I've done is rest," she said.

  "You've earned every minute of rest."

  Solona hadn't taken her postpartum recovery well. His strong, fighting girl had trouble slowing down initially, to the point that she had been sentenced to bed weeks before the baby was due. After their beautiful boy was born, she then wanted anything but to resume her duties. It was his obligation, and blessing, to spend his nights serving the Maker and his days, tending to his family. Life was perfect. It was more than Cullen could have ever asked for, not even in his wildest dreams.

  "Do you think I've grown lazy?" She sighed and pulled her arms up into the air above her, stretching her lean body slowly like a cat fresh from slumber.

  He shook his head thoughtfully. "If you think I mind coming home to find you stretched across our mattress, you are mistaken."

  Though, there were times spent in quiet recollection in which he thought it funny that he couldn't tell how long it had been since she had last been out of the house. Or how long it had been since she last traveled with the Wardens as well. She was ageless, he realized then, constantly that girl of twenty who left him in the tower so many years ago. Her skin was forever supple and her tawny hair had, unlike his, never met a graying strand. Solona was a wonder to him.

  She cast a glance to him from over her shoulder and all thoughts melted away. There were things his eyes were always drawn to, regardless of time or circumstance, such as the thickness of her lower lip and the lowering of her lashes. Smiling, he ran his fingertips down her spine. He hadn't noticed she was undressed until the moment his calloused fingertips danced across her smooth skin. The baby was asleep, the day was still young (despite her contrary opinions), and a yearning desire burned at the pit of his stomach.

  With fingertips slipping into the crook of her elbow, he pulled her back. Logic needn't be present; he had no recollection of disrobing, nor did he feel the need to pay any mind to the process. She was below him and his teeth were at her throat. Their lovemaking was neither short nor sweet; Cullen's desire to have her body wrapped around his for as long as possible was defeated by none. Each thrust left him intoxicated and her voice, filled with sweet murmurs and moans, saturated the air until he could think of nothing more than her.

  And when she would cry out with ecstasy with him collapsing next to her, she'd give him just minutes before crawling on top of his body again.

  There were no duties or responsibilities. Time stood still as they indulged themselves. But by, perhaps, the third or fourth time she begged him for more, the world began to tilt. He ignored it as much as he could; he was love drunk and nothing needed to make sense at all. The glimmer on her skin was sweat and darkness in her eyes was clearly desire.

_Desire,_ he thought stupidly,  _that's all that it is._

  In some far-off land, his name was being called. She begged him to pay it no mind, for it was the Knight-Commander, who had come to make him work an extra shift. His lips captured her's again, but he recognized the voice. It was a woman. Silly, he'd only known of one female Knight-Commander and she had been slayed long ago. Solona shook her head and smiled before pressing kisses against his slanted jaw. His hands tingled and something sharp hit his back. His darling girl pulled away from him as he glanced down, noticing the lyrium vein he had landed on.

  The world spun again, harder this time than the last, and he thought he'd black out from either the rush of power or sheer confusion. His brow furrowed as he looked back to his wife. She was gone.

  The dust billowed around him. His head felt full of burning embers as everything went black. 

  "He's fallen," Cassandra barked out, stowing her long sword at her side. "He's injured, but this is the one we were looking for...this is Cullen. He needs healing. Someone get Vivienne!"

  Varric's laugh ricocheted through the canyon as he slung Bianca over his shoulder. "Really, Doomsday, I thought you'd at least get one hit in on that demon before I knocked her out. Maybe the next one?" His grin met Cassandra's glare. As always, she didn't have time to put up with his taunting.

  "I said _get Vivienne_ !"

  "Fine, fine," he replied, "but don't try to take credit for my kill while I'm looking for her." Varric hurried off, pausing only to shrug and shake his head at their elven companion, whose curled lip noted her disapproval. 

  "For the love of-" In frustration the Inquisitor threw her blade down on the ground next to the Templar's body. He was no mighty warrior, nay...he looked withdrawn and paltry compared to the rest of their troop. If he was to be their saving grace, the one who would ensure victory, she realized that they would all die soon. "He'll slow us down, Cassandra. Leave him."

  Cassandra's hand shot in the air between them, an accusatory finger held within inches of the other woman's nose. "We are not leaving him. We need him."

  "Really?" Her expression was incredulous as her gaze bounced between the two, the passionate Seeker and passed-out Templar. 

  "He's likely been without lyrium for months. It makes one...  _vulnerable_ to the evils of the Fade." Cassandra folded her arms over her chest, her nose twitching. "I say we need him. I haven't been wrong yet, Inquisitor." 

  "Right," she spat back. Shoulders squared, she turned back to the man in question. “We don't need the mage.” Fingers worked fast to loosen the buckles that ran up the length of her arm. Irritation twisted into wry amusement as she wiggled her bare fingers. "It's time to wake up, birdy."

  Nothing made any sense anymore. Cullen was not only stricken down, but smote with a dropped leather gauntlet against his chest and a glowing hand across his cheek. His house was gone and replaced with hard-carved plateaus and bent, barren trees. Instead of his beautiful wife at his hip, two women stared down at him.

  Snapped awake, his eyes spread wide and breathing stilled as the rogue buckled her gauntlet back tight against her wrist. He watched as her brows immediately lifted. 

  "I suppose if we're now down to picking up has-been former Templars from dusty pathways where they'd otherwise be left for dead," she grumbled, "then welcome to the bloody Inquisition." 

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Technically, would that be the first known fade hand bitch-slap? ;) Hope you enjoyed and please do leave comments!


End file.
